


In which Peter tries not to be found out by the Avengers

by mxmitch (orphan_account)



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: And his voice, Busker Peter Parker, I just borrowed his face, Mitch is not actually a character, Peter Parker can sing, Peter Parker is played by Mitch Grassi, Peter is a Stark employee, Precious Peter Parker, Secret Identity, Tony Stark is suspicious, Tony is sleep deprived, will add more tags later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-09 12:02:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10411707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/mxmitch
Summary: Like it says on the title. Poor Peter.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first Avengers/Spider-man fan fic, but with a twist! Peter Parker is played by Mitch Grassi. Weird, I know, but give it a chance. If you don't know who Mitch Grassi is, search him or click this link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jWRXp9BxFg8
> 
> (He's the second one to the right, wearing glasses. Just imagine him with shorter hair and no stubble.)
> 
> I've always felt that Mitch Grassi's mannerisms and voice could make a very endearing Peter Parker. And given Andrew Garfield's portrayal in the Amazing Spider-man, it wasn't off-putting at all to physically have Mitch in mind when I write Peter. Hopefully that translates to readers, too!
> 
> I figured that if I was going to write fanfiction, I might as well indulge myself to the fullest, right?

Peter Parker’s life is simple.

He’s lived in the city all his life—hasn’t left; except for that one science exhibition on his tenth birthday in New Jersey—and he’s nineteen years old. The most interesting thing (that he could tell you) about himself right now is probably that he’s preparing for sophomore year of college, and getting about three hours of sleep per night because of it. Which is really not that interesting.

In fact, the only thing that might be abnormal about Peter Parker is that he grew up practically an orphan, and the fact that his aunt is, as far as he knows, the only living relative Peter has left. He’d rather not think about that. Or tell anyone the details—just the pitying stares are enough. Peter doesn’t like receiving pitying stares (or attention of any kind, but that’s beside the point), because that means people are actually _noticing_ him. And it’s not that he doesn’t like being noticed, but more that he’d prefer if it just didn’t… _happen_. Besides, doesn’t everyone have a tragic backstory nowadays?

That’s right. So why should Peter’s be anything worth gawking at?

The answer is that it shouldn’t. Because Peter Parker is nothing special.

...

At least, that’s what he’d have you believe. Without fail.

Even when you’re Tony Stark.

Which is why, when the self-proclaimed genius billionaire playboy philanthropist hears about one of his quietest employees (surprisingly quite a feat, given that most of the nerds he’s been hiring at Avengers Tower have been broke college students with E.Q.s probably the negative equivalents of their I.Q.s. He’s been feeling the last ‘P’ of his extensive title lately.) catching an open vat of hydrochloric acid falling from a nine-foot tall shelf, inches from the ground without any spill, Tony immediately fires whoever put the vat there in the first place. Then, once that’s taken care of, grudgingly allows his interest to be peaked at the mystery of one Peter Parker.

Kid looks like he could be knocked over by a forceful gust of wind. Or maybe even just a moderately-strong one. How on Earth did  _ that _ manage to catch 22 pounds of falling  _ hydrochloric acid _ without some sort of accident?

Of course, rumors could always just be rumors. So Tony, being the diligent genius( _ -billionaire-playboy-philanthropist _ ) he is, checks in with his most reliable source at the Tower. And when JARVIS confirms the rumors, he begins to freak out a little. Because:  _ hello?! _ Probably-mutant college student with Steve-like strength and Natasha-like reflexes in  _ his _ tower?

Right away, the inventor has questions. Like: does the kid even need those clunky, annoyingly hipster glasses young people consider ‘cool’ these days?

But  _ more importantly _ —what kind of genius would Tony be to let  _ that  _ slip under his radar?

In fact, he should probably tell the Avengers. Not Natasha or Birdbrain though; Tony Stark may be heartless, but even  _ he _ wouldn’t wish for this Parker kid to be forced to deal with SHIELD this early on. Or ever.

But when Tony contemplates telling the others, a niggling doubt in the back of his mind stops him. What if it  _ was  _ just a fluke? If he does tell someone that isn’t those two, he’s 41% sure that SHIELD would somehow find out anyway, and that number is just way too high for his comfort. (And  _ if  _ SHIELD found out, which they’re not, he’d risk losing a damn good employee. Tony had looked over Parker’s work the other day—kid’s got a brain.)

So, after coming to the conclusion that he  _ can’t _ tell the Avengers and he  _ can’t _ talk to the kid about it—yet—Tony embarks on a new project: Find Out What the Fuck is Up with Peter Parker Before Anyone Else Does (Namely, Black Widow and Birdbrain Because Fuck Knows What SHIELD Would Do If They Found Out).

His first plan of action? Easy: rig the Starkphone prototype assigned for the kid to take notes on tomorrow, tweak it for a minor, harmless (for the most part) explosion, and watch how Peter Parker reacts.

 

Peter doesn’t know what to think. He’d been ecstatic and, okay, more than a little miffed when Pepper Potts (yes,  _ Pepper Potts _ ) had approached him with a smile and the latest Starkphone. Well, at first glance that’s what he’d thought it was—but no, turns out it’s actually a  _ prototype _ . Which means it hasn’t come out yet. Which means he’s  _ not  _ stuck on customer service, for once.

Which  _ doesn’t make sense _ .

Not that he’s complaining. At all. It’s just, well, customer service is his  _ job _ . It’s on his contract and everything.

“Um,” he’d said to the immaculate looking redhead. And—very articulate, Peter. Try again. “What—me—why?”

“Boss’s orders,” Ms. Potts had said simply, before handing him the Starkphone and walking away. Come to think of it, her smile did look a little strained.

After the woman had left his little unofficial station, Peter had stared unblinkingly at the flashy Stark logo on the back of the larger-than-it-has-any-right-to-be device for close to an entire minute. Which is probably how he manages to notice the barely-there  _ hum _ of electricity coursing through the phone… that Peter’s pretty sure really,  _ really  _ shouldn’t be detectable.

And that brings him to his current predicament: tell Tony Stark someone rigged his new Starkphone and possibly get fired, or tell someone who will tell Tony Stark and possibly—less possibly, but still—get fired? Because there’s no way Peter can pretend there’s nothing wrong with this prototype and still be able to tentatively call himself a hero. And Peter would rather get fired than have that on his conscience.

That’s it; he’ll have to do something he’s never done before. There’s a number that Stark employees can call, but only if they really, really can’t find what they need. Apparently it’s linked directly to Stark’s A.I., but Peter’s never called it in the three months he’s been working here. Then again, he’s never needed to before. And he’s pretty sure that a rigged Starkphone, even a suspected one, is more than reason enough to call the A.I.

Even with that assurance, though, Peter can’t help the anxiety at the monotonous sound of the beeps on the other end of the line. (The fact that there are beeps, like the A.I. is actually some kind of human being waiting to pick up the call, kind of freaks him out.)

Seriously, how long does it take for an Artificial Intelligence to pick up the damn—

“Stressed-out Stark employee, how may I help you?”

In a contorted effort to not slam down the phone, Peter tightens his grip on his personal cell phone. The creak it gives out is more than slightly ominous, but his trusty old Nokia doesn’t let him down and stubbornly persists on staying intact.

“Um,” he says again, feeling a bit like déjà vu. Then clears his throat because his voice had gone uncomfortably high, and Peter would rather not deal with yet another person mistakenly thinking he’s a female over the phone. Much less Tony Stark. And typically, Peter wouldn’t delude himself into thinking Tony Stark is  _ actually _ at the end of the line—what if it were just an automated message?—but the telltale  _ buzz _ of live telephone that wouldn’t be detectable by normal human ears tells him otherwise.

So that’s definitely Tony Stark on the other line. But Peter’s not supposed to know that—he’s supposed to think that Stark is actually conceited enough to make his A.I. sound  _ exactly like him _ . Which Peter knows for a fact is not true, because he’s read about JARVIS before and the almost sentient A.I. is British. Uh, is programmed to have a British accent.

“Kid?”

Peter exhales, and rushes out, “um, yeah, so I think there might be a problem with this prototype that Mr. Stark sent m—”

Peter’s spidey sense only gives him a tingle of warning a split second before the phone goes off. Instinctively, he tosses it in the air because the explosion is relatively small, and if it’s not touching anything then nothing will be harmed when it does explode.

The airborne prototype gives a  _ crack _ that causes a few heads to turn (Peter cringes), and when it lands on Peter’s desk there’s smoke coming out of it. Kind of like those compilation videos of the nice-looking, faulty smartphones that Peter can’t afford.

Huh.

 

_ What the fuck? _

From his frozen laid-back position on his desk chair, Tony’s mind whirs as it attempts to process the images the security camera had shown him in the last five minutes.

The first thing that had thrown him for a loop was the kid’s voice. He hadn’t expected it to be so… high. If Tony hadn’t been watching the video feed, he definitely would have assumed he’d picked up the wrong call for JARVIS.

The kid had also been abnormally soft-spoken, like one of those honeyed voices you’d get when ordering room service at fancy hotels.

Actually, no, Parker’s voice sounded  _ more _ unassuming than that. Fucking  _ weird _ .

Then it was the look that had crossed the kid’s face right before he’d done the impossible and fucking  _ sensed  _ the phone was going to blow up less than a second before it happened. It had been a slight furrow of the brows—a searching look, the genius realizes. Parker had felt that the phone was rigged in some way, and right before it happened he’d been trying to figure out the best course of action to minimize the damage.

That level of strategic thinking in the tiny amount of time, and the motor precision it must’ve taken to propel the Starkphone just high enough to achieve the goal—Tony can’t help but be impressed.

Not as impressed as he would’ve been if the kid had just received the brunt of the explosion and healed from it in seconds like a mutant would, but impressed nonetheless.

(Now that Tony thinks about it, though, if  _ that  _ had happened then the kid would’ve probably quit. And filed a lawsuit. Not that he’d have anything to worry about if  _ that  _ happened.)

(Not to mention that if he were actually a mutant, Tony’s ‘harmless’ little stunt would’ve likely scared Parker into hiding after being found out. And that simply can’t happen now because as the genius is starting to figure out, Peter Parker is  _ interesting _ .)

Yeah, Tony might need to rethink his game plan with this. And probably get some sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony discovers something unexpected about Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if you guys don't know who Mitch Grassi is yet or haven't imagined him as Peter in this story, now would be the optimal time to do so! And I've added Kevin, another member of Pentatonix! Don't worry though, this is 100% a Spider-man/Avengers fan fic, so Pentatonix does not exist.
> 
> Anyway, please watch the first 20 or so seconds in either (or both) videos to get the idea of what Peter and Kevin were doing at one point in this chapter:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZLbFVg0c13U  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RY5RweQiYhs
> 
> That's all for now. Enjoy :P

“JARVIS, how much farther?”

_ “Twenty feet, sir.” _

“You said that ten minutes ago,” Tony grumbles. He feels a little unhinged, though it might be because of the disguise—he’s wearing a  _ rainbow-colored scarf _ , for fuck’s sake. It’s gaining him all kinds of stares (only from tourists, though; most New Yorkers are too used to crazy people to bat an eye at a man in red-tinted sunglasses and a rainbow scarf obscuring most of his face) but not the ones he’s used to, and he doesn’t like it.

Why is he doing this again?

_ “Well, it appears that Mr. Parker has been on the move.” _

Oh, right. He still hasn’t figured out the deal with his disturbingly mutant-like employee. A tick of annoyance makes his eye twitch before a pensive expression smooths over the genius’s features. “Like a mutant that doesn’t want to be discovered,” Tony muses aloud in a sage voice.

_ “Whatever you say, sir.” _

The A.I.’s wry droll crackles in Tony’s ear, and he waves a hand as if he can bat it away. JARVIS can act as reluctantly indulgent as he wants; that doesn’t change the fact that Tony is right. He just knows it. Probably.

The thought that the kid (very possibly) might’ve been inside one of the hundreds of indiscernible vehicles on the busy New York streets while Tony was busy examining the run-down buildings and discreet alleys pops up in his mind. He ignores it.

Now is not the time for second-guessing. Tony has a  _ mutant _ to… catch? Confront?

_ (Confirm that the poor college student is, in fact, a mutant, or concede to the truth that he’s been delusioning himself this whol—) _

_ “We are here, sir.” _

Tony’s head snaps up eagerly. Then, at the sight and sound of a lively, pervaded-with-tourists square full of snack vendors and a water fountain, blanches.

_ Central Park?  _ What kind of law-fearing, miscreant mutant facility would station itself at the main entrance of  _ Central Park? _

The (unwelcome) thought that Tony might’ve (once again) jumped to conclusions without considering all, or even half, of the possibilities, sneaks into his mind. But Tony (once again) pushes it aside.

It’s been more than a week, for fuck’s sake, and with Fury forcing him to officially resign from Avengers business (for the time being—he  _ hopes _ ), and nothing to do but, well, make sure his company isn’t going to shit and stare forlornly at his Iron man suits, Tony’s been going half-mad.

The inventor  _ needs _ a distraction; some kind of project, like this.

Which is why Tony Stark has been spending the last week or so spying—um,  _ listening in _ —on his employees’ conversations, and getting some serious headaches from the incessant gossip he hadn’t been anticipating.

Tony actually gags a little at the memory. The last week had been an experience he wishes to never repeat.

Because Parker is so damn secretive, the genius now knows far more about Fiona Elarde’s various cosmetic procedures and her hopeless crush on Parker and Stanley Krugler’s biweekly (sometimes weekly) online dating attempts than he’d ever need to. Or  _ want _ to.

Thank god he’d found a way to spy exclusively on Peter. (Although it was only after learning about some sort of torrid affair involving a young female computer scientist on the third floor and Ken, the forty-year-old janitor with a family, that Tony decided that enough was enough and promptly shut down the audio port connecting him to his employees’ conversations.)

He’d been beginning to feel weirdly guilty about the things he knew, too, and if that wasn’t an indicator that Tony needed to stop… then the fact that he quite drastically gave one of his employees a hefty raise after learning she was struggling to pay health care for her grandmother was probably more than enough of one.

_ God damn it, Fury really needs to let him back on before he  _ really  _ loses it— _

Tony squishes the thought down furiously. He doesn’t need Avenger business right now. He’s not going crazy. He’s in the middle of a  _ project _ , and he’s  _ so _ close to figuring out the puzzle.

Most importantly, he’s not hiding in this ridiculous disguise in the middle of Central Park on a Friday afternoon just for the fun of it. Of course he isn’t; there is a perfectly reasonable reason for his current situation.

Tony refuses to feel stupid. He’s just starting to sweat a little under the gross oversized Hulk hoodie that he has on.

Now, where the  _ fuck  _ is Parker? Fiona had mentioned that he never works at the Tower on Fridays because of his (suspiciously) unspecified  _ other job _ . And at the time, Tony had assumed the kid’s other job meant tending to his duties as part of a secret mutant organization, but he’s starting to question that assumption.

Just as he’s starting to question a lot of things.

Tony shuffles around, a bit dejectedly now. He should just go back—demand his position as Iron-man back—

_ “Sir,” _ the strangely intrigued tone in JARVIS’s voice makes him stop and listen.  _ “It appears that Mr. Parker has gathered a crowd.” _

It always gives Tony a sense of delight when JARVIS notices things before he does. Of course, JARVIS is connected to his glasses so they technically see things at the same time, but when it comes to observation it isn’t uncommon for the A.I. to speak up first. Tony pats his earpiece in thanks.

He sees the crowd standing near the water fountain and walks toward it. Once the genius is close enough to hear what whoever’s in the middle is saying but far enough as to not draw attention to himself, he stops proceeding and weaves around a few bodies to find an opening at that distance.

And—there! An almost hysterical glee enters the inventor when he spots the lanky college student. Tony watches with rapt interest as he easily sets up a microphone and keyboard, next to a black probably-also-college-student a few years older than the kid, as if they do this often.

Once the equipment is set up, which doesn’t take much time at all, the kid steps up to the microphone and taps it a few times. “Check one,” he breathes into it with that disarmingly soft voice, uncomfortably close, pulling a few good-natured laughs from the crowd.

Parker smiles, which startles Tony even more than his voice. “Well, Kevin,” he says, this time at an ideal distance from the microphone. He faces his friend, but the rest of his body stays turned toward the audience.  _ Like a true performer _ , Tony notes.  _ Or someone who is used to pretending _ , he adds on hastily, remembering his suspicions. “Looks like we already have ourselves a crowd.”

Kevin laughs, a surprisingly childlike laugh considering his football player-ish looks. “Looks like we do, Peter. Hey everybody, how y’all feeling today?”

The crowd lets out a messy chorus of ‘good!’s, ‘well, how are you?’s, and ‘great!’s. Tony narrows his eyes behind his obnoxious glasses. He’s starting to feel an increasing sense that he’s about to be blind-sided, and the genius doesn’t like that one bit.

“JARVIS, record. Audio and visual,” Tony mutters hotly under his breath.

_ “Already on it, sir.” _

Kevin looks at Peter expectantly, and the kid claps his hands together and faces the crowd once more. “So, hi everyone. I’m Peter, and my friend right here—” he points exaggeratedly to his left, “is Kevin Olusola.”

Kevin chimes in, “what up?”

Peter grins and adjusts his glasses. “Right, so, I think we have a few regulars here…” as if prompted, the crowd releases a few cheers. “And for those of you who are new, we do a little set here in front of Central Park, and we do it every Friday. Um, so just to introduce ourselves a little, Kevin makes the beats; he’s the beatboxer—” Kevin lets a series of extremely fast, alarmingly catchy beats out of his mouth. “—yes, thank you Kevin. That was beautiful.”

A teenager wearing a snapback lets out a loud whistle very close to Tony. He curses under his breath and tries not to wince as Parker’s sharp, brown eyes flicker in in his direction. Luckily it seems to sweep right over him.

Peter clears his throat, then says very quickly, “and I play the piano and sing. Okay, we’re gonna start with a little Beyoncé cover. And one, two…”

As Kevin resumes his weird percussive mouth-noises, realization dawns on the onlooking inventor with something akin to horror. The kid’s ‘mysterious other job’ isn’t nefarious like he’d thought at all, in fact—he  _ sings _ .

He’s a fucking  _ Central Park busker. _

Tony’s fingers urge with the itch to blow something up. Preferably a cardboard cutout of Nick Fury, because that’s who led him to following a college kid for an hour in the sweltering sun only to find out the destination was  _ Central Park _ , for a  _ busking session _ . It’s stupid enough to surpass Justin Hammer’s last attempt at hacking into JARVIS.

But then the kid starts to trill this weird, enticing tune with a technical perfection that sounds effortless, and Tony’s sleep-deprived brain short-circuits.

If he’d thought Parker’s talking voice was pleasant, then his singing voice is… well, very very pleasant as well.

The crowd falls silent to listen. Even Tony’s mind is only quietly whirring in the background.

Kid can sing. And his friend is great at that beatboxing thing. They make a great duo. But fucking fuck—Parker has probably got the  _ smoothest _ ,  _ prettiest  _ voice he’s ever heard.

Tony needs to hire him for an event. Maybe have him sing at the next Stark Expo, or make someone forcibly drag him to the karaoke machine at the next office party and record it.

Wait—does he even have a karaoke machine? It doesn’t matter; he’ll buy one. He’ll buy a brand new, shiny one.

Satisfied with this plan, the inventor claps quietly along the sharp whistles and applause once the first song finishes.

“Thank you guys! Well, we got a request for Kiiara’s  _ Gold _ , so we’re gonna do this one next.”

Tony stays for another six songs (a whole half an hour and seven songs longer than he’d planned), then only leaves because JARVIS alerts him of Virginia needing him back at the tower. He hails a cab, feeling oddly like a child that’s been wrenched away from their candy.

“Tell Pepper I’m on my way,” he responds to JARVIS as he buckles in his seat-belt.

_ “On it, Sir.” _

Then the taxi driver gapes at him for a moment, and he remembers that he’s Tony Stark. He rolls his head a little to the side and quips, “less stylish in person, I know,” followed by a lazy gesture at his attire.

The humor passes right over the taxi driver, though, who continues his gaping. Tony sighs and turns back to look at the road. The guy must be either too starstruck or not fluent in English. Hopefully he knows where Avengers Tower is, though.

The ride is not a long one, but five minutes in Tony feels the sting of bitterness at failing an experiment sinking its claws in. The only suspicious behavior Peter Parker has shown these past few weeks were those two stunts back at the tower, and his only other occupation besides working at the Tower so far has been singing, of all things.

Perhaps it’s time that Tony lets up on this—it’s obvious that the kid doesn’t want to be found out, whatever he is. He doesn’t want to let go of his curiosity, but maybe indulging in it is just too big of a waste of time right now. Tony could focus on other things, like fixing the balance problem Birdbrain’s been experiencing with his exploding arrows or developing a trigger system that’ll alert him when Natasha is a—

Suddenly, a giant, scaly tale-thing smashes onto the front of the cab. Tony jerks back, pulling himself tight against his seat on instinct.  _ What the actual–? _

The next minute blurs together in a series of dizzyingly quick events. The large, scaly thing is suddenly thrown onto the front window—the cab driver screams words in a language that Tony doesn’t understand and swerves; the genius winces—one moment, and the next it’s thrashing around as it tries to escape from  _ something _ . Tony barely hears the ‘ _ thwip, thwip _ ’ sounds over the familiar rush of his blood whenever something exciting is happening, and when it finally registers, the scaly thing is unsticking itself from the window ( _ gross _ ) and flopping onto the hood.

The inventor registers what it is (a giant lizard) before noticing the long strands of web wrapped tautly around its arms and legs and strapping its tail to its body, effectively restraining its movement. He wonders if the material is natural or man-made. If it’s man-made, then he can definitely understand the theme.

Tony smirks. Webs, huh? Kind of like… the genius looks up, directly into the white lens of a familiar red and black mask.


End file.
